


My Mourning Into Dancing

by 7iris



Category: Justified
Genre: Comfort Sex, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 16:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7iris/pseuds/7iris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel and Tim take care of Raylan after his father dies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Mourning Into Dancing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inlovewithnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/gifts).



> Who requested a poly V with Rachel and Tim topping the hell out of Raylan.
> 
> Title from [Psalm 30](http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm+30&version=KJV). Thanks to secrethappiness for the beta!

After Raylan's first week on the job, after he's shot his childhood friend in the home of a murder suspect who he is almost certainly sleeping with, Rachel invites him to happy hour.

He accepts. She'd figured it was even odds when she asked. They talk about work, office gossip. He tells them stories about his time in Miami in that drawling, deadpan voice, all of them hilarious, some of them ending without gunfire. He has exactly one beer, thanks them politely, and leaves. 

Tim watches him go.

Rachel orders them a round of whiskey. "Don't get attached," she says.

Tim smirks. "I'm just looking. You saying you're not?"

"I'm a married woman," she says piously. Tim's smirk widens and she smiles back over the rim of her glass, sly and filthy. "Doesn't mean I'm blind, though."

He laughs, and the conversation moves on.

"Still," she says, at the end of the night, rolling her empty glass between her fingertips. She's talking as much to herself as to him.

Tim meets her eyes, unsmiling. "Still," he says.

*

She thinks about that conversation when Raylan says, too casual, "Arlo's dead."

Her stomach twists with a kind of sympathetic pain, and oh, she should learn to take her own advice one of these days. 

"I got the call an hour ago." They're all looking at him now, but Raylan won't meet their eyes.

Art calls them into his office after he badgers Raylan into leaving. They run through the tasks they need to accomplish, rearranging responsibilities to handle as much of Raylan's work as they can before he comes back, before he tries to do it himself.

Finally Art sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. "What a shitshow."

Rachel makes a vague noise of agreement. Tim is quiet, waiting.

"You'll, ah, you'll look after him tonight, though, right?" Art looks tired, worn down.

Rachel wants to say no, that he's a grown man who can take care of himself, but she has recently spent her own free time talking to a purveyor of fighting chickens for Raylan's sake, so. "Yes," she says.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Tim's shoulders relax the smallest fraction.

The room is too quiet for a moment, tense with emotions that aren't quite right for the workplace. Then Tim says, "Are you gonna donate your bottle of Pappy's to the cause?"

Art snorts, and it's easier to breathe. "Hell no. He needs quantity over quality at this point."

"Can we use the government card?" Rachel asks, all wide-eyed innocence.

"No. But if you keep the receipts and Raylan doesn't shoot anyone else in the next twenty-four hours, I'll consider reimbursing you."

This is what all cops know: you can find the joke in anything if you look hard enough.

*

Rachel buys vodka. She thinks she'd choke on the taste of bourbon tonight.

Tim's waiting in the driver's seat, cell phone in hand. "He's at his place."

"Did he say that or are you tracking his phone?" Rachel asks, settling the bottles between her feet.

"Ehh," Tim says, and starts the car.

They flash their badges at the bartender, and he doesn't complain when they go up the back stairs. Tim pounds on the door. Rachel's thinking about getting her lockpicks out when Raylan finally opens it.

"No," he says. "I don't want to talk about it."

"We don't want to listen," Rachel says. She shoves past him, because she's small, and Raylan has weird notions about chivalry.

"You need to get drunk, or get your brains fucked out," Tim says. He holds out one of the bottles. "And this is easier than picking up."

Raylan takes the bottle, twists the top off, and takes a healthy swig. He's still glaring, but he steps back from the door and lets Tim in. 

Rachel takes off her suit jacket and her sensible shoes, sets her gun and her badge neatly on the dresser. There's no place to sit in Raylan's shitty apartment, so they end up on the bed, shoulders brushing as they pass the bottle back and forth, Raylan to Tim to her. Rachel paces herself, careful sips that leave her warm and boneless.

They don't talk, until Raylan says, like he can't quite help himself, "You know what the worst part is?" 

"That now he'll never admit that you were right and he was wrong," Tim says. His eyes are closed and there's a bitter twist to his mouth.

Raylan lets out something like a laugh, low and unhappy. "Yeah, pretty much." He takes a rough breath. "This isn't working. I want to try option B."

He rolls over and kisses Tim. 

Tim inhales sharply, but he grips the back of Raylan's neck and kisses back. Raylan kisses like he's trying to prove something, hard and aggressive, and Tim kisses like he doesn't give two fucks. Rachel feels a wave of scalding heat wash over her. She takes another careful sip of vodka and doesn't move.

Tim drags his mouth away and turns his head to look at her. His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded. "Rachel," he says, and it's not quite a question.

She looks at Raylan and he looks back. Something hot and restless coils at the base of her spine. He licks his lower lip, opens his mouth like he's going to say something, and she shoves his shoulder hard. She puts all her weight behind it, and it rolls him off Tim and onto his back. She climbs over Tim to straddle Raylan's waist. 

Raylan blinks up at her. She catches his jaw in her hand and leans into to kiss him. She licks into his mouth, as slow and filthy as she knows how, and Raylan groans, his hands coming up to settle on her waist. When she pulls back, Raylan lifts his chin, trying to follow her mouth. 

She catches Tim's eye, tips her head. _Yes?_

He shrugs, mouth quirking into a smile. Nods.

She shifts her weight back and Tim leans in, his hand braced next to Raylan's head, to kiss him again.

She can feel Raylan getting hard under her and she rolls her hips lazily, to make him gasp into Tim's mouth. She unbuttons her shirt, peels it off and tosses it aside. She climbs off of Raylan and takes her pants off. While she's up, she opens the nightstand drawer. There's a box of condoms, which she's expecting, and a bottle of lube, which she is not. 

"Huh," she says. Tim lifts his head and looks over. She kneels on the bed and holds up the lube. Tim grins.

Raylan's hand is knotted in Tim's t-shirt. He rolls his head to the side to look at her, and his mouth drops open. "Fuck, Rachel," he says.

She doesn't let herself shiver. "You're wearing too many clothes," she says.

Tim sits up and tugs at the hem of Raylan's t-shirt. Raylan lets him pull it off, lets him unbuckle his belt and drags his jeans and boxers down. He's hard, his cock slapping against his belly. He kicks his jeans off and rolls over, nuzzles her thigh. His beard and stubble are rough against her skin.

She slides her hand through his hair. It's a good length to hold onto and his eyes close just for a second when she tightens her grip. Tim's stripping his own clothes off and she ignores him. 

She tugs on Raylan's hair and he goes with it, rising up to kiss her mouth, to slide his palms over her bare skin. He bends his head and drags his mouth over her throat. He fumbles with the back of her bra and she bites down on a laugh. She nudges him back to undo the front clasp. 

He watches her with hot, dark eyes. He leans back in to kiss her collarbone, the curve of her breast, slow and lingering. He flicks his tongue over the tip of her breast and she hisses in a breath.

Tim slides his hand down Raylan's back, and Raylan arches into the touch without taking his mouth off her skin. She gives his shoulders a little push, and Tim pulls, and Raylan goes with it, twisting to catch Tim's mouth. Raylan lets them hand him back forth, until they're both breathless and her skin tingles from beard burn. Raylan's kisses have lost that hard, desperate edge, turned warm and slow, almost drugged.

She trails her fingertips down the knobbly ridge of Raylan's spine while Tim kisses him, lets her fingers dip between the cheeks of his ass. Raylan exhales, dropping his forehead to rest against Tim's shoulder, and rocks back against her hand.

Tim is flushed, wide-eyed. She picks the bottle of lube up again and pops the cap.

"You know what you're doing?" Tim asks.

"Oh, yeah," Rachel says. She slicks her fingers up, traces tiny circles over Raylan's asshole. She applies a tiny bit of pressure. Raylan spreads his legs wider and she can see the muscles in his back relax, like he's making a conscious effort. She pushes harder and her finger slides inside him, his body a hot, tight clench around her. She lets out a soft, satisfied breath. "It's been awhile, though. Joe was a nice guy."

She regrets the words as soon as they're out of her mouth, regrets the sour edge to them that gives too much away.

"Good thing Raylan isn't a nice boy," Tim says.

She meets his eyes, dips her head in acknowledgement. She twists her hand. Raylan shivers. She pulls back and pushes in again with two fingers, slow, methodical strokes.

"Fuck," Raylan says, "come on, harder."

"Quit bitching," Rachel says mildly. "Use your mouth for something useful."

Raylan grunts, but he drops his head, slides the head of Tim's cock into his mouth. Tim's breath comes out in a rush.

Rachel curls her fingers, looking for that spot that makes Raylan's whole body jerk, makes him moan around Tim's cock. The pit of her stomach feels hot, liquid. She presses her thighs together, watches her fingers slide into Raylan's ass.

"Do you want to fuck him before or after he comes?" she asks, and her voice comes out rough around the edges.

"Shit," Tim says breathlessly. "I don't-- what do you want?"

"I want to make him come like this."

"Works for me."

Rachel adds a third finger and Raylan pushes back into it. The muscles of his thighs and ass are trembling, rigid with tension. He pulls off of Tim's dick to pant, open-mouthed, his head still down.

"Rachel--" he says.

"Okay, shhh," she says, and reaches around to palm his cock. He comes as soon as she touches him, with a low, ragged sound that sends a bolt of heat through her belly.

"Fuck," Tim breathes.

Rachel eases her fingers out of Raylan and he sags, flopping onto his back, boneless, dazed.

Rachel catches Tim's eye, and he shifts to take her place between Raylan's legs. He's hard, his cock bobbing between his legs as he moves. She grabs a condom and tosses it to him.

Tim blushes. She drops her gaze to Raylan's face, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Raylan's eyes are closed. She combs her fingers through his hair, brushing it back off his forehead. He lifts his chin a little, pushing into her touch.

"Raylan," Tim says quietly. He smooths his palm over Raylan's thigh. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," Raylan says, his voice raspy. He spreads his legs wider, draws one knee up. "Yeah, do it."

Tim lines himself up and pushes in slowly, his face focused, intent.

Raylan's mouth falls open. "God _damn_." His spent cock twitches against his thigh.

Tim moves his hips in tight, controlled strokes. "Rach--" he says, breathless and hoarse. "You should-- his _mouth_."

Rachel hums in agreement. She shucks her panties and kneels up to straddle Raylan's face. She's already wet, dripping. Raylan makes a soft, hungry noise in the back of his throat, his hands coming up to grip her thighs. The first stroke of his tongue makes her gasp and curse. She braces one hand on the headboard and rolls her hips down against his mouth.

Raylan's mouth is just as clever as his smirk and his drawl promise. Something hot and restless seethes under her skin, the muscles of her belly and thighs pulling tight. The room is full of the sounds of their rough breathing, the slap of Tim's skin against Raylan's. Tim's not touching her, but she can feel the heat pouring off his body.

Raylan drags his teeth delicately over her clit. She grinds down against the pressure and comes, tension breaking in a liquid rush. 

Raylan groans and licks up into her, dragging her orgasm out. She tangles her hand in his hair, holding him steady at the right angle, pleasure twisting back into hunger.

She can feel his rhythm falter, feel his hands clench and unclench on her thighs, as Tim fucks him harder. She slides her hand between her legs and brings herself off again, his tongue slipping against her fingers. It's deep and slow this time, a tidal wave that leaves her gasping, curled over Raylan.

"Oh," Tim says, low and shocked. His hips snap against Raylan's once more and then he stops moving all together. "Fuck," he says shakily.

Rachel huffs out a little noise of amusement. She doesn't have the oxygen for laughter. 

Tim rests his forehead against her back for a minute while their breathing slows.

Finally, Tim straightens up. Rachel takes her weight off of Raylan's shoulders, twisting to sit beside him with her back against the headboard. Tim pulls out slowly and Raylan grunts.

His eyes are closed, his mouth wet, shiny. He's flushed, red spilling down his throat over his collarbones. Tim's left fingerprints on his hipbones that will be bruises tomorrow. There's a few streaks of semen on his belly, like he came a second time. He looks wrecked. A warm thread of satisfaction curls though her belly.

Tim pads naked to the bathroom. Raylan drags his eyes open when he gets off the bed, and Rachel pets his hair.

Tim comes back with a couple of wet washcloths. He hands one to her and wipes Raylan down with the other. Raylan makes a soft, pleased sound in the back of his throat, eyes drifting shut again.

"You stayin'?" he mumbles.

"We don't have anywhere better to be," Rachel says.

"Mmm."

Rachel drops her used washcloth on the floor. Tim has pulled his cellphone out of his jeans and is frowning at it.

Rachel slides under the sheets. "Set the alarm?"

"Yeah," Tim says. He sits down on Raylan's other side and Rachel turns out the bedside lamp. There's a little bit of nudging and shuffling to get them all settled. It's not the biggest bed, but they'll make it work. Raylan is boneless between them, unresisting, but he doesn't pass out completely until he's touching both of them.

Rachel lets out a long, slow breath. Something unknots at the base of her spine. She doesn't miss her empty bed at all.


End file.
